Mother, Father
by Cr8zeCorbinFangirl
Summary: Henry's confidence is starting to get on Peter's nerves...and to amuse the Lost Boys. Slash


Henry sat on a log set apart from the toiling Lost Boys. They each had a job 'to-do' - gather firewood, weave a net, sharpen arrowheads into _sharper_ spears. They all acted like they were soldiers preparing for a battle, but that was it. They all 'acted' like it. From the bump on the log, Henry saw them for what they really were.

Scared little lost boys. And damn if he was going to be bullied by children no different from him. (He's had enough of that in Storybrooke.)

"About to join the fun, Henry?" Henry had gotten used to Peter's sudden appearances from the shadows. They still made him jump though which, of course, always made the teenager smile.

"What fun?" Henry snapped, keeping his glare as Peter sat down across from him.

"Why, any fun you like." Peter said it like it was the most obvious thing. He stretched out his arms and turned his face up to the sky. "This is Neverland."

Henry pushed his lips together and sighed. "No thanks – I'm fine."

Peter turned his head down, the smug smile disappearing. "What's holding you back, Henry? What are you waiting to happen?"

"My family to find me." This was the most obvious thing in Henry's world.

An obvious thing that turned Peter sour, scrounging up his face in a snarl. "When will you understand – your family isn't coming!" His resolve broke. He'd tried his hardest to treat Henry with patience, but goddammit if the boy just \knew which strings to pull.

Henry leaned closer, not shying away from the murder he saw in Peter's eyes. "Maybe _you _don't understand. My family are the most amazing people you will ever know."

"The Enchanted Forest wouldn't exist if it wasn't for my grandfathers and the people have my grandmother to thank for that. My father is the only one to ever escape the Dark One, time and time again. And my moms – the both of them – are the most powerful people in Storybrooke – ev-er." Henry's mouth widened into a smile. "And we _always_ find each other."

Peter's hands balled into fists. With a great breath, he shot up with a growl and stormed off. (Not unlike having a tantrum, if Henry was asked.)

The Lost Boys knew Peter would not hesitate to kill them if they spoke to Henry without his permission, but they all inched towards him. As Henry sighed, he jumped when he noticed the eyes on him.

"What...what do you mean your moms are so powerful?"

Henry blinked and blinked, mouth suddenly going dry. While Peter was gone, it surely wouldn't hurt to tell the Boys who they were up against. Maybe scare them enough to give up before it even began.

(Maybe he was a bit of a Lost Boy. There was a part of him – as the night waned on with stories he had memorized by heart – that told the stories because it might make Peter angry.)

The stories, which never seemed to end, went on night after night. Henry seemed so happy to tell the tales, especially the ones of his mothers. He enjoyed his mothers' triumphs so much that the Lost Boys stopped calling him 'Henry'; they called him 'mother.' They didn't realize what they were calling him – it had been so long since they'd all had mothers, it was just another meaningless word to them.

On the other end, due to his demand for attention and obedience (and when Peter found out about the stories, there was _such_ a punishment. Henry still saw some boys limping about) and the fact that he was the eldest boy on the island, Lost Boys called him 'father' now and again.

Henry didn't know this, of course, not till one night. He still refused to join in on any frivolities – no surprise – annoying Peter for his stubbornness. He'd had filial sons before – they'd never been _this_ difficult. It took all he had not to just smack Henry till he saw sense. For once, he had to admit that that would only drive Henry further into his delusion.

From the sides, the Lost Boys would snigger to themselves. "Mother and Father are fighting again." they whispered.

Henry looked at them with wide eyes. Had...had they really...he looked up at Peter for a moment and then looked away, blushing. He vaguely recognized that Peter's attention had pulled away from him to his boys, barking orders to disperse the crowd.

It didn't mean anything, Henry reminded himself. It literally meant that Henry and Peter were fighting again – personal nicknames joined replacing their given ones. It was no different than if Emma and Regina were fighting, or Charming and Whale, or...or even Bob and Sheri are fighting. (Whoever they were.)

* * *

Henry _had_ been able to tell the days from the nights from the days he'd been in Neverland by the positions of the stars. (Neal had taught him how to when they sailed from New York.) Emma and Regina had to be getting close, because a few days ago (he thinks) Peter took his hand and pulled him down a tree.

Below the ground, Henry was surprised. It almost seemed like a warm home. Peter moved away, lighting candles about the room one by one with the touch of his finger. In the fire glow, Henry could see a bed – a proper bed – sit in one corner and in another, a little table ready to be eaten at. It surprised Henry. The hideaway seemed...liveable.

Peter finished lighting the candles and turned back to Henry with a stone cold glare. "Stay here..." And he jumped up the shoot they came down, disappearing with great ease.

"Hey, wait!" Henry called after him. He tried jumping up, but he way too short. So he'd been stuck underground ever since.

There was a sudden sound – like something toppling down. When Henry turned, he saw Peter crumpled on the floor. He shoots up, frozen and not knowing what to do. "Oh my god...are you okay?"

Peter laughed outright (very creepily, if you asked Henry) "Oh, I'm just _fine_, Henry." He pulled himself up, stumbling about the hideaway.

"Wha...what happened?"

Again, Peter was laughing. "Your _family_ decided to pay us a visit." For the first time, he looked at Henry. "Too bad they missed you." Right on cue, a course of pain shot up from his side, resulting in a spasm that had him doubled over his right side.

As Peter's hands pulled away, the black smear on his hands made Henry gasp. "Is...is that..."

"Dreamshade." Peter closed his eyes, swallowing a whole lot before speaking again. "It's alright – I've built up an immunity. I'll be alright in a few hours." The speaking took a whole lot out of him. Peter huffed onto the bed, letting in a few deep breaths.

Henry felt frightful despite the confidence in Peter's tone. So he pulled a brave smile, almost cocky. "I told you they'd be tough. You, you should have listened to me."

Peter laughed, but much more dryly. His condescending expression now looked familiar as he stood to his full height, despite the stretching of his wound. "Well, that's quite rude. And you've never even thanked me." Through the pain, Peter approached Henry closer. "Didn't you want to see the worlds? And I brought you here without even having to ask. Shouldn't you be grateful?" With just about a foot between them, and Henry having to crane his neck up to look at him, Peter smiled. "Why don't you thank Father, Mother?"

Henry fought against the urge to roll his shoulders – to push away the awkward uncomfortableness of the names. "Wha...how do you expect me to do that?"

"I can think of a few ways." With those words and the hand not cradling the wound, Peter pulled Henry the rest of the way to his chest by his waist. He bent to make up for their height difference and kissed Henry.

Oh the innocence he tasted on the 12-year-old. This was surely his first kiss. Henry didn't know how to fight, didn't know to push Peter away. And Peter took full advantage in that. He moved lips against lips, letting Henry fill him up.

For a moment, inside of him, he could feel..._something_ moving. Something that gave him shivers. Familiar shivers, like when somebody brushed over his bruises – bruises long since healed. Shivers like when his stomach crumpled over in hunger – hunger that he'd long since forgotten, because he was always fed and never forgotten. Shivers like when he was locked in a closet with no light, and angry voices on the other side of the wood. Shivering memories he'd long since forgotten after he'd fallen out of the pram.

Peter was the one to actually break the kiss; his eyes fluttered open under knitted eyebrows. "What...what was...what..." His hands (the both of them) tightened in their hold of Henry's flannel.

Henry looked over Peter in his – for lack of any other term, because there was no other term – confused state. He looked at his side, where the Dreamshade poisonous wound wasn't seeping any longer and starting to heal. His gaze locked back with Peter's. In a heartbeat, his small chubby hands clasped Peter's cheeks and pulled the older boy back in for a kiss.

Peter was happy to oblige. He enjoyed how close Henry was to him, how easily he could pull him backwards till they fell onto the plush bed and Henry was cushioned into him even further. But the fuzziness he felt inside his head, like a veil being lifted off his memories that had kept them hidden from even himself for so long – he'd never felt this way before.

Except he had. As he kissed Henry, he wasn't Peter anymore – he wasn't even Pan. He was Peter Pan, the boy who found Neverland.

Henry pulled away for breath. They stared at each other for the longest moment, where none of the confusion had yet left Peter's eyes. He seemed to realize their position and together, they looked down his side.

The wound had healed, as if it had never been there before.

Henry turned his head up, smiling through to his eyes up at Peter. "True lover's kiss can break any curse."

True love? This?

The heart of the truest believer, was _his_ true love?

What an interesting waif Peter had had brought to him. He'd certainly have to try even harder to keep him on the island.

Peter didn't want to think about all his games and schemes and plans right now and such a thing seemed simple when he kissed Henry. Thankfully, Henry was obedient in this and met Peter's lips once more. One thought did remain however. That Peter, perhaps, wouldn't actually need to try _too_ hard.


End file.
